


Family Values

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Multi, Threesome, Underage Sex, Wincestiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam have been traded around their whole lives, building what they could out of everything that was broken. When they are adopted by Castiel's family, broken is just a thing they have in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Values

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous on spnkink_meme: "Dean and Sam have been bounced around the system for years. It's pretty shocking really when someone finally agrees to adopt them. It turns out their new parents aren't big on affection - traveling around the world and barely noticeable when they are home. They saw Dean and Sam as a charity case - a way to 'do good.' Their son lives there too, about Dean's age (15-17). At first Dean thinks he's just some aloof rich kid, but figures out he's hurting just as badly as Dean is. I'd love it if Dean and Sam were hard, rough around the edges, and really vulnerable from all that time being bounced around. And if Castiel was also experiencing trauma from years of being emotionally neglected."

**Family Values**

     If there was anything Sam Winchester knew, it was how to fade into the background, be invisible and hope to hell it stayed that way. Survival in the system was good behavior, following the rules and going to school, getting your grades because it was your only ticket out. It was eating when you were told, washing up and getting to bed on time no matter who played your parent of the week. So yeah, Sam knew the rules- eighteen was the magic number, if he could last until then things would be different and with any luck, better.

     Dean helped, because that’s what older brothers did. Steadfastly he refused to let them be separated, orchestrated everything. Everyone wanted Sam- cute little Sammy, but he listened to Dean. Every time a family came along that just wanted Sam, he lied because it was the only way to make sure every night he could sneak quietly from his lumpy foster bunk into Dean’s and be cradled against his chest. Sometimes he said he saw demons, or liked to burn things and sometimes he just didn’t talk at all. It was all an act, but it did the job. Parents couldn’t protect Sam from the dark of the night, but Dean could. Dean could kiss his forehead then his nose and it was all better again, brighter.

     When they were adopted, it was terrifying. Foster parents always had so many kids and not enough time, so if you made sure you were under the radar you could stay that way. Parents were different, invasive and involved, nothing you did was private. Sam knew everything he did would be suddenly publicized, open because family meant no more closed doors, no more secrets. At least, that’s what he thought it meant until it finally happened.

     Sam had his tiny suitcase, full of whatever meagre possessions a thirteen-year-old’s life represented. Dean had some clothes, a battered old family album that had pictures of him and Sam, everything else ripped out or scribbled away. It was their life, the clothes on their backs and a few memories worth less than the Kodak paper they were printed on. Ushered into a six-figure salary house by two career-parents was painful, an awkward tour of this is this and that is that. Separate rooms, family rules, welcome to this John Smith mess of average Americana, we hope you enjoy your stay.

     Dean was angry, the white-knuckled kind that Sam knew well, the kind that always got them into trouble. When things were going too good Dean fucked it all up on purpose because he just had to get it out. Sometimes he hit something, other times he destroyed things because it felt good. Dean had a rage inside of him that ran so deep it was like a volcano hovering just under the surface of his calm but no matter how angry he was, Dean was always gentle with Sam. In the dark of the night they did things that brothers didn’t do but Dean was always tender, always patient.

     Now, they had another brother.

     As old as Dean, maybe a few months younger but so similar to them both it was eerie. Sam didn’t like it at first, the way he watched them both like a hungry thing. Their new parents were barely that, rich and career-oriented, so caught up in the quarterly numbers and the stocks that three sons was just another mask, like the Mercedes in the drive-way or their never-used but expensive wine cellar. Adopting was just another purchase and their once-only son Castiel was the blue-eyed fallout of ineffectual parenting. Castiel was just as lonely as two unloved state-reared brothers but more so, sadder. Sam and Dean had never expected to be treated tenderly by the foster system, never strived to make the system proud but Castiel didn’t have that freedom.

     After a few weeks of barely-there encounters, everything changed.

     Sam had snuck into Dean’s room like he always did, snuggling into his arms and feeling the warm-hard of Dean’s erection on his thigh he knew it had been a bad day. That was fine, because he was used to the guilty way Dean touched him, like he thought Sam might break. The probe of his fingers was familiar, the mantra-murmur of do you like it, are you okay was the only apology he needed. Too young when it all started Sam had grown into it, puberty blooming into the familiar rut of Dean’s ministrations. In these moments it was private, perfect- but then suddenly, they weren’t alone.

     Castiel was standing at the doorway, blue eyes wide but curious, lips wet from where he licked them because he was wanton, jealous. No one touched him or loved him unless there was company and it was all for show. Look at our son, look at his accomplishments, look at how we all love one another until you’ve gone home for the night. Hugs were like desert water, wanted but so far in between that when Dean touched Sam and he moaned like he was taught, Castiel thirsted. The first time Castiel had caught them Sam had been so afraid that their secret might get out, that Dean might be taken away but Castiel never told. Instead, he came nightly to their doorway, barely lit by the hall light. Strangely, Dean never asked him to leave but never invited him save licking Sam’s chest for show and pulling back his head as he kissed him, murmuring baby boy like it was a prayer.

     Dean was wary of Castiel, in that first awkward handshake he had squeezed too hard as if to say I know you, I know you’re just another pampered rich bastard. It was the narrowing of Dean’s eyes that read: I will always be better than you, I have things your daddy can’t buy. Sam had watched it all unfold, the way Castiel crumpled under Dean’s silent, boiling rage but didn’t turn his head because hatred was attention in its own way. So, when Dean kissed Sam’s neck and breathed in the smell of gym-sweat and Tide he knew he wasn’t alone and that night, he relented.

     “Come in, if you’re coming.”

     It was a low rumble of an invitation and Sam tensed momentarily, scared because Dean was all he knew. Castiel crept quietly into the room and Dean leaned up on his elbows, the wide-eyed terror on Castiel’s face something he recognized from every foster home he had ever stayed in; starved, for touched, for love- sometimes for recognition. In a way it comforted Dean to know that it wasn’t just him and Sam, that all the happy families in the world could be just as broken as they were.

     “Do you want to touch him?”

     Sam shivered at the implication, the way he was bought and sold just like a commodity but he knew Dean, trusted him to make sure he was never hurt.

     “I-“ Castiel’s voice was a low grovel, musky and whisky sweet. “I don’t know.”

     “What do you want, Sam?”

     “Whatever you tell me I need.”

     Dean smiled; Sam always knew just how to answer.

     Dragging Castiel’s quivering hand into his own, Dean slid them both over Sam’s chest and ran them down the hairless plane of his chest, cupping his hard but not-quite-grown erection. Sam keened into his own knuckles because it felt good, exhilarating because it wasn’t Dean. Castiel’s worried kneading was sporadic, unpractised but wonderful as Dean egged him on, told him how Sam liked it best. It was dirty-perfect when Dean kissed Castiel, inches from Sam’s mouth and then they both kissed him in turn, one after the other.

     Dean tasted like he always did, homey and wet but Castiel was different, brighter and cleaner because his minty toothpaste was fresh, because he flossed. Dean’s mouth was lazy but practised, guilty because his tongue was rocking against his brother’s except he didn’t care. Castiel was terrified, twitchy and tentative and he reminded Sam of the first time, Dean’s first kiss. So careful, hesitant because feeling so close to someone was too good to last, because it was a guilty bit of pleasure stolen between starchy sheets in strange houses.

     Sam moaned into their kisses because they were good, a memory that couldn’t be spoiled by social workers or crying infants they didn’t know. Looking for somewhere to put his hands Sam found Castiel’s semi-hard cock accidentally, pawing at it the way he had learned to touch Dean’s.

     “Did you want to put your mouth on it, Sammy?”

     Sam felt a warmth wash over his belly, an adolescent curiosity that propelled him forward and in a flurry of movement everything was reversed. Castiel was spread out on the bed, older but no more experienced and suddenly Sam was in control, more knowledgeable because Dean loved him, taught him. Watching protectively, Dean hovered to the left of his shoulder as Sam lowered his too-small mouth over the thick of Castiel’s cock. It was weeping, the taste of it was similar if not more bitter than Dean’s but Sam smiled around it because he knew exactly what to do, how to make it good.

     Lapping the underside of the head just like Dean liked best Sam gently scraped his teeth from the mid-point to the tip. Castiel was silent, a chopped sound in his throat and a thrust of his hips the only evidence that Sam was doing a good job. It was the best kind of praise, not fake or dishonest like the simper of a foster-mother, or the gruff acceptance of her disinterested husband. Castiel’s body was hairier than Dean’s but it was finer and Sam wanted to bury his nose in it so he did.

     It was something Dean wouldn’t let him do because if he gagged Dean panicked, so Sam stole his opportunity. Relaxing his throat just like he had taught himself he took Castiel’s cock to the mid, then slowly farther. As it hit the back of his throat his stomach heaved but he ignored it, breathing slowly through his nose he forced it farther, liked it. God, it burned and his jaw ached around it but from behind him he heard Dean’s breath catch in his throat, a low groan betraying him as Sam took it all.

     “Fuck, Sammy…”

     Castiel came gracelessly and Sam did gag, pulling back suddenly and letting his mouth fill with the salt-and-bitter of his thick come. His mouth was overworked and sore but he swallowed because he loved the taste, it meant he had done a good job. All he ever wanted to do was a good job and all the praise in the world was nothing compared to that wet testament flooding over his tongue, Castiel’s hips drying humping the air as he floated gently back to earth couldn’t lie; Sam was good.

     “I’m sorry, I’m-“

     “Be quiet, Cas. You’re not done. We return our favors, here.”

     Castiel’s sex-sleepy eyes widened, but he nodded mutely. Dean had a way about him, a fatherly command and just like he reared Sam with firm hand it translated so easily, you’ll do as I say.

     “Sammy, knees.”

     Sam was obedient, ass in the air and head pressed into the mattress because even though he loved it, Dean didn’t like to see his face. Maybe if he had been older, he would have had the same socially bred shame, but he didn’t. Instead he let the subtle sway of his narrow hips beg but Dean shook his head, said no.

     “Not that way, turn around.”

     Submissively Sam turned, pressing his face into Dean’s lap instead, exposing the peach-soft curve of his backside to Castiel. At first he had been cautious, even reserved but Sam trusted Dean and riding the afterglow of Castiel’s orgasm, he was confident. Grade school recess whispers of promiscuous older siblings ran through his head in a montage and Sam spread his cheeks, blunted nails leaving moon-dents in his own skin. Sam’s was the shadow of adult suggestion, a learned behavior because he wasn’t nearly old enough but wished he was.

     “Please.”

     Castiel looked panicked, turning to Dean who nodded.

     “He loves it, but only if you want.”

     Castiel bowed gracefully, trembling with virginal worry. Sam was so small, so delicate but the tiny noises he made were unspoiled. Sam’s rosy hole was tight, unused and pucker-perfect. Castiel’s tongue swiped against it, tentatively because he was afraid of the taste but there was nothing but sweat. Again he licked more firmly than before, dipping just barely against the give. Sam moaned low and perfect and more confidently Castiel grabbed at the tan-lined skin of his hips, holding him in place as he forced his tongue into a point, pink and wet. Tongue sinking inside of the pucker Sam fell forward, open mouth breathing heavily against Dean’s hard cock.

     “What should I…?” Castiel breathed against Sam’s reddening hole and Sam keened again, muffling it by sealing his moist lips around Dean’s quivering head.

     “One finger- no more than one, he’s not ready.”

     “Okay.”

     Castiel hesitated, unsure.

     “Nice and wet, lick it first. Should be soaked.”

     Dean’s breath was coming in tiny pants because Sam’s lips were mumbling pleases and needs against his dick, tongue lapping at his pre-come. Castiel was pretty, thin and taught but he wasn’t Sam, didn’t have the puppybrown almost-hairless body that had warmed Dean since infancy, grown with and into him like he was made for it. Sam’s well-trained tongue swirled against his cockhole, pressed against it and then dragged down the length. Suddenly Sam tensed because Castiel’s finger was pressing into him as Dean watched, enjoyed.

     It felt foreign, strange and too much all at once, but Sam liked it. Dean had promised more when he was older, more fingers and more sensation. Although he had never expressly said it he had promised the thick burn of his cock shoving into Sam and owning him, ruining him for anyone else. So, when Castiel curled his finger and brushed against something Dean was leery to touch Sam froze, trembled. Dean’s eyes flew open when Sam’s pace stuttered and instead of watching Sam he watched Castiel’s wonder-filled expression.

     “Keep going.”

     “Dean-“ It was the first time Sam spoke, the waver of worry betraying him.

     “It’s okay Sammy. You’ll like it, it’s okay.”

     Of course it was okay, because Dean promised it would be. Abandoning Dean’s cock Sam closed his eyes and felt the slide of Castiel’s finger in and out and the second time it crooked, he came.

     “Shh, Sammy. Shh, it’s alright.”

     Gently and afraid of a rebuke, Castiel crawled closer to Dean. Kissing him with a sex-swollen mouth he shivered as Dean licked his finger clean, tasting and memorizing Sam’s murky taste. Then with a firm hand tangled in his hair Dean guided Castiel down to his cock, coaxed his mouth open with a distracted thumb. Swallowed down with the after memory of Sam’s orgasm he came barely touched in the heat of Castiel’s mouth, rocking against the slackening friction.

     Floating gently back to earth Dean watched as Sam curled sleepily around Castiel’s torso, hand stretching over Dean’s thighs to remind him he wasn’t forgotten. Castiel’s blue eyes were black-rimmed and exhausted but he was hovering on the edge of awake because he wasn’t sure he was welcome or wanted in the middle of something so clearly established. Dean got it, understood that Castiel was starved for the same things he was. Pulling Sam closer Dean wrapped a caring arm around Castiel and checking his watch he made note of the time before leaning against the headboard.

     “Sleep.”

     “But-“

     “It’s okay, I’ll wake you.”

     Castiel looked frantically at the door, worried that for all his parents might let slip by or ignore this wasn’t something that could fade away. What if he didn’t wake up, what if he was caught, what if-

     “It’s okay.” Sam mumbled sleepily, “Dean’ll keep us safe.”

     As Sam drifted off and Castiel’s worried brow smoothed, Dean breathed deeply and held them both tighter. If he could touch it, it was real- realer than a never-there parent or the cookie-cut idea of the family he had been spoon-fed for years. In four hours he would wake them both, send them back to their rooms and keep it all protected, close to home. Castiel was just another piece of middleclass collateral and just like Dean and Sam, he’d been forgotten by the ebb and flow. Dean didn’t say goodnight I love you because Sam already knew and eventually, Castiel would understand the quiet way they worked. Soon enough it would be just like he had always been there, a part of it all.

     “Sleep, Cas. It’s okay.”

 


End file.
